


Best Laid Plans

by alisso



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: M/M, Spies, drugged, dubcon blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisso/pseuds/alisso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Rider has a habit of disrupting plans. Yassen Gregorovich has little patience for most disruptions, but somehow, Alex is an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzie_Shooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/gifts).



> I blame suzie_shooter, and Alex Pettyfer. There's just something about him that makes me want to do filthy things to him, even if only via fiction...
> 
> Note: The non-con element of this is peripheral, but I wanted to warn anyway. The key pairing of this fic is consensual.

He should, perhaps, have anticipated this.

For years now, Alex Rider has managed to appear at precisely the worst possible moments and disrupt the plans of his employers. The question of why none of them have simply had him shot is a mystery, but the fact that they have not is a relief. They give him the time, and Alex has the resources, and every time he's managed to escape.

Once again, he has found his way into a position that is a problem for them. Once again, they have not had him shot. As often happens, they have chosen to drug him.

This time, it isn't a sedative.

He watches uneasily as Alex goes willingly to his knees in front of the head of the cartel he's annoyed this time, as his eyes glaze over and he opens his mouth.

Even though he knows he isn't a boy anymore, that Alex is at least as old as he was himself when he started in his chosen career, it still seems akin to molesting a child. Molestation it certainly is, as the laughing gangster undoes his fly and tugs his thick, dark cock from his pants, thrusting it in Alex's direction.

Whatever they've given him seems to do more than just make him compliant - Alex is not simply the victim of this obscenity, he is an active participant, licking, sucking, opening his mouth wide when the gangster stops laughing and starts thrusting more urgently, gripping the boy's head by his shaggy locks.

It doesn't take long.

He shoves Alex away, leaves him sprawled on the floor when he's done with him, and heads for the door, shouting an instruction over his shoulder as he goes.

"Yassen! You can have a bit of fun with him if you want, and then get rid of him. Dump the body somewhere they can find him, let MI6 know what happens to people who mess with us!"

His bodyguards follow him from the room, smirking.

The sound of the door unfreezes him, and he crosses the room cautiously, eyes fixed on the limp figure of the panting boy. At least he's still breathing.

When he gets close, he crouches, places a hand on one slim shoulder, encourages him to turn over and sit up.

Alex's face is oddly blissful, eyes half-lidded and dark, lips reddened and swollen. Sweat beads across his forehead, and he looks pale, and Yassen wonders what, exactly, was in that injection.

"Alex, can you hear me? Can you stand?"

A confused frown creases the boy's brow, and he blinks a few times, looking as though he's trying to focus.

"Yas-Yassen?" he murmurs, weakly.

"Yes," no time for prevarication, "can you stand up?"

"Yassen," the boy smiles as he says the name this time, an odd sort of smile, "you were dead. And then you weren't." He looks up, head tilted quizzically. "Aren't you supposed to do that the other way around?"

"That is the more normal way of things, yes. Alex, we don't have time for this, can you stand? Can you walk?"

"Probably," he shifts, leans forward, his hands stretching out to the floor for balance, going on all fours for a moment before he kneels up. Yassen stands, offering a hand to help him the rest of the way, and Alex looks up at him from where he kneels, and smiles again. "Not sure I want to though. Like it down here."

His hands are suddenly busy but clumsy on Yassen's belt, and for a moment he's so stunned by this he can't move, can't think, but soon enough sanity returns and he slaps the hands away.

"Alex, no!"

The mere thought disturbs him. He knew this boy's father, before he was born, loved him like a brother, a comrade. He's known Alex since he was fourteen, since he was a child. He's seen him grow and mature into the young man he is now, and he is not blind to the way his own feelings for Alex have matured along with him. But even if the pressure of time was not on him, to let him do something like this, under the influence of the drugs...

Over his lifetime, he has done many things that could be regarded as wrong. He has killed many, without remorse. And yet still he has always had a moral code, twisted though it might be. When he kills, he kills quickly and cleanly, he does not torture, or rape. To do to Alex what his employer has already done would be evil, dirty, worse than wrong.

Pulling his hands away, Alex pouts up at him, and something in his stomach tightens at the sight of that full lower lip, stuck out in an expression of extreme disappointment. He tells himself to be thankful he knows about the drug. If he thought that Alex wanted this of his own accord, that he was in his right mind, he knows he wouldn't be able to resist.

"Come," he grabs one of the hands that are sneaking up again as though he won't notice them, and tugs firmly, bringing Alex to his feet, though he stumbles the moment he's upright, and Yassen has to grab him to keep him from falling.

A mistake, he realises immediately, as now Alex is pressed against him, his smile back. And he can't let him go or he'll fall again.

"Knew you wanted me," the smug mutter in his ear makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck. The lithe body that wriggles a little against his own is encouraging other things to stand up as well, and he clamps down on his self-control, desperate not to give himself away.

Twisting away from such temptation, he still doesn't let go of Alex, getting an arm around his waist to support him as he moves to stand next to him. As Alex whines in complaint, he has an idea.

"Hush," he speaks quietly but sternly, "not here. Now come."

It works. A smile that is a million miles from innocent spreads across the boy's face, and he nods, and allows himself to be led to the door in the opposite wall to the one Yassen's employer used.

No one in this business lives long if they do not consider all possibilities. He knows he owes his survival to his planning abilities, and one thing he has always done is plan for a potential failure. He has bolt-holes and safe-houses all over the world, some hidden from his enemies, some from his employers, a very few, carefully prepared and well hidden, are safe from everyone.

It is to one of these that he takes the weakened Alex, knowing even as he does that he will never be able to use it again, even if the boy does not survive whatever he's been given. The investment of time that had gone into the arrangement of this place was great, but he can't begrudge it now.

A tiny, squalid bedsit in an ugly building, but it is safe. No one questioned him as he left with Alex, and no one will question him later when he returns alone.

He plans to leave Alex there to sleep off the effects of the drugs, but not all of his plans are as successful as they might be. And Alex has always been good at ruining plans.

The moment they're through the door, Alex turns to lean against him, trying to push him against the wall, but lacking the strength to do so. Instead, he reaches up to pull him down, trying to kiss him. Yassen sees again what was done to that pretty mouth, and recoils immediately, pushing Alex towards the bed.

"Sleep," he orders, "you are not well."

"I'm _fine_ , Yassen," Alex sounds every bit the child he was when they first met, petulant and irritable, but his actions are anything but. The firm and sizeable bulge in his trousers, now pressing against Yassen's thigh, is evidence of a certain amount of maturity.

"You are not yourself," he is aware of the strain in his own voice, and it's an effort to push Alex away again, push him towards the bed. "You need to sleep, to recover. When you wake you will be yourself again."

"I _am_ myself," a hand finds his crotch, and he pushes it away, "dammit, Yassen, I know you want me, you know I want you, what's so difficult about this?"

"I find it hard to believe that you are yourself when not so very long ago I saw you giving head to the criminal you are supposed to be investigating," he snapped, pushing Alex away, hardening his heart as the boy stumbles backwards and falls onto the bed. "They drugged you, Alex!"

"And they would have done worse if I hadn't done as he wanted!"

The logic is unexpected. So far, Alex has been behaving completely irrationally, or so it has seemed. But still...

"And you thought he'd let you go if you got down on your knees and asked nicely?"

"No," Alex was perched on the edge of the bed now, and he rolled his eyes at the suggestion, "I thought it would buy me some time. I hoped they might leave me alone with you," now he looked up, through dark lashes and a pale fringe, "whatever else you might have done, you've always given me a fighting chance."

"And you choose to use your chance like this?" he forces himself to stay firm, not to weaken at the appealing and utterly undeserved look of trust in the boy's eyes.

"Fuck, Yassen!" sweeping a hand through his messy hair, Alex pushes himself off the bed, unfastening his trousers and shoving them down around his knees to fall to the floor as he steps forward, revealing the bulge he'd been concealing before. It leaves absolutely no doubt as to his manhood. "You said it yourself. They drugged me. I'm _fucking_ horny, I feel like I'm about to lose my _mind_ if I don't do something about it soon, and I have wanted your cock since before I even knew I was gay! Now, are you going to help me out here, or should I just take care of this myself?"

For a long, tense moment, they simply stare at each other. It isn't, it can't be, it _shouldn't_ be possible. It's wrong, and he knows it. But it isn't evil.

Decisively, he steps forward, hand going to his belt, and Alex groans, stepping closer as well, dropping to his knees on the thin rug beneath him and lifting his hands to help. Together they get rid of his belt, push down his trousers and pants, and Alex freezes the moment they do, stops and simply stares at the erection he has helped create and now free. One cautious hand moves up to stroke it, and Yassen finds he has to bite his lip.

When Alex looks up at him, eyes wide, lips ever-so-slightly parted, he reaches down to rub his thumb over that lush lower lip and nods once, sharply.

Uncharacteristically obedient, Alex bends to his task.

It's so good it almost hurts, the sweet suction, the way Alex moves his tongue, pressing and sliding and twisting against sensitive skin. His hips thrust without direction, and Alex makes a sound - a deep, groaning noise of arousal and approval that resonates through Yassen's skin, sending vibrations to tingle over his balls. Fingers scrabble at his thighs, dragging at the fabric of his trousers, shoving them down to his ankles where they hobble him.

Not that he has any desire to move from where he is. His fingers card their way gently through soft hair, trailing lightly over Alex's scalp, as close as he can allow himself to gripping his head and pushing deep into his throat. But the memory of his erstwhile employer flickers back into his mind with painfully vivid clarity and he's pulling away before he can even think to mourn the loss of Alex's talented mouth.

With a whine, high and sharp and urgent, Alex follows him, mouth still open and eager and it hurts to deny him but he can't, won't, do that, not now. Instead he cups a hand beneath the open jaw, tilting his head back to force his gaze upwards.

"Not like this," he didn't even notice when he started growing short of breath, but he's panting now as he speaks.

"But," Alex's tone threatens to whine again, but he silences him with a finger against his lips.

"Trust me, Alex," their eyes lock for a long moment before Alex nods, then opens his mouth to take Yassen's finger into his mouth, drawing it in with his tongue and teasing at it without once looking away. Years of practice are all that keeps Yassen's face carefully blank. "Up," he speaks softly, the word a command and not a plea, and Alex rises to his feet with the sinuous grace of youth, unhindered, he's glad to see, by any sign of his previous drug-induced lack of co-ordination.

Standing brings them face to face, and he finds his eyes dropping to Alex's mouth, lips swollen and red and wet, still curved around his finger, and now twisting into a crooked smile. He retrieves his finger slowly, having to fight the sudden suction, smiling slightly as the drag pulls Alex's lower lip into a pout.

"Yassen..." the sound of his name from that well-used mouth is too much, and he tugs him close to taste the echoes on those lips.

With a moan, Alex presses closer still, yielding to the rough and claiming kiss with a willingness that somehow isn't as surprising as it should be. He can feel the heated pressure of Alex's still restrained cock against his thigh, the rough silk sensation of the golden hairs on Alex's thigh against his own bare cock. The pressure feels good, but the friction when Alex rubs against him threatens to be too much, so he grips slim hips to hold him still. Once he does, the temptation becomes impossible to ignore, and he lets one hand slide lower to palm a buttock and roughly squeeze.

Slim fingers dig into his shoulder as Alex pants and whines into their kiss. Amused, he bites at those reddened lips and moves his thigh to press harder against Alex's cock. The moans elicited only urge him on, pressing harder and teasing with lips and tongue and teeth, until Alex tries to work a hand between them, reaching for his cock.

Stepping back, he shakes his head at Alex's sound of protest. Slowly, he kicks off his shoes and trousers, mouth quirking into a little grin as Alex enthusiastically follows his lead, stripping off layers till he stands bare and desperately aroused.

When Alex moves to kneel again, he remembers, and reaches out to stop him.

"I said," he steadily meets the confused gaze, "not like this," still, he can't completely ignore what he's denying himself, reaching out to stroke the defiant jawline, and run a thumb over that mouth, "on the bed," he finally says, and watches Alex's eyes open wide and eager.

It's hard not to laugh as Alex throws himself onto the narrow mattress with near-desperate enthusiasm. He looks younger than he is in moments such as this, betraying the youth that the world has deprived him of. They'd both been forced to grow up too fast in their time. He likes to see Alex show signs of the young man he should be, not the jaded self he has to be.

Watching him wriggle on the dingy bedspread, he allows himself a small smile.

"How do you want me?"

No doubt Alex thinks himself seductive like this, as he whispers breathily and arches his back. Yassen will never tell him that it's his vulnerability that draws him in, not his unpractised seduction attempts.

"On your stomach," he directs, "legs off the bed."

He sees the moment Alex realises his plan, and he lets the smile widen as he throws himself into position, kneeling beside the bed and sprawling over it.

A hand to the small of his back stops his restless shifting, and Yassen lets his eyes roam over the planes and curves of him, the angular shoulder blades and the full shape of his arse. He wants him, wants him in a way no one else has had him, though he isn't sure if he really will be the first. Stroking his fingers along the knobbly spine and teasing at the very top of the cleft between his cheeks, he considers his options.

"Yassen..." the moan of his name is desperate and accompanies a frantic buck of hips.

"Be still," he speaks quietly, but Alex is listening intently, and holds himself motionless as Yassen's fingers trace his backside. "Have you done this before?"

Intrigued, he watches the hint of red that colours Alex's ears, and waits patiently.

"Not," he chokes out at last, "not with anyone else," he stops, and at Yassen's interrogative noise, he shudders, "my, my fingers."

The image appeals, and he decides he'll have to see that one day, but now is not the time. For now, he has other plans.

He wants to take his pleasure from the boy spread out before him, knows he would not be taking anything not freely offered, but, after what he's seen tonight, he can't bring himself to be so selfish as that.

It's a simple matter to push at Alex's legs, to nudge them till they spread as wide as is possible, and to drop to kneel between them. The sounds of Alex's confusion please him, and he bends to see what other noises he can inspire.

Generosity, he thinks, does have its benefits. When he parts Alex's cheeks and licks between them, the resulting gasp is followed by a moan so thick with need that he can almost feel it on his skin, a palpable presence in the air. He presses in with his tongue, and twists, and hears Alex's voice crack as he calls out in shock and pleasure, and truly, it is better - or at least as good - to give as it is to receive.

So he takes his time, teasing and licking and probing, stretching Alex open with his tongue, and then one careful, wetted finger. The response that gets is unexpected, but not unwelcome, a deep groan as Alex pushes back to force him in further.

Two fingers, buried and pressing against his sweet spot, has Alex babbling nonsense - curses, pleas, and Yassen's name again and again in a tone that makes his cock throb heavily between his thighs - his tongue circling his fingers where they vanish into Alex's body and the words are replaced with muffled sounds that might even be sobs.

In time, he's satisfied that Alex is as ready as he can be, given their limited equipment, and he slips his fingers out and gets to his feet, looking for his clothes. Alex is no fool - his head lifts from the bed and he groans as the fingers leave him empty, but he waits patiently, unmoving, for what comes next.

There's a condom in Yassen's wallet - old, but not out of date, and he slips it on carefully, hoping the additional wetness it provides will be enough. He wants to own Alex, not damage him.

A little careful pressure, fortunately, is all it takes before Alex's body is yielding to him as willingly as his mouth did earlier. There's tightness, but there's little friction.

As he sinks in slowly, Alex moans beneath him, clutching convulsively at the bedclothes. It's all Yassen can do to run a soothing hand over his sweat-damp back as he holds himself as still as he can, so far in his hips are pressed against Alex's arse.

Carefully, watching Alex and his reactions, he shifts his hips, drawing back slowly, no more than an inch, before pressing back in. Alex starts swearing under his breath the instant he starts moving, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's not exactly unhappy. Then there's the way he pushes back when Yassen pulls out again, urging him to thrust back in.

Taking the encouragement, he draws back further for the next thrust, then back in harder. Alex's back arches, and he moans.

"Very well then," he mutters under his breath. Alex clearly half-hears, because he starts to turn his head, a quizzical look on his face, just as Yassen pulls back so far as to be almost out again, before driving in hard.

He smirks, unseen, at the noise this forces out of Alex. Immediately, he repeats the action, not giving Alex time to draw breath before he falls into a rapid rhythm of push and pull.

The litany of filthy, desperate pleading is spilling from Alex's mouth again. Although Yassen does not approve of giving people what they want too often, he decides to accede this time, increasing the force and pace.

He could hardly do otherwise, Alex's body is hot inside and out, and tight, and the urge to fuck him hard and fast is overwhelming. Grabbing his hips to hold him still (Alex whines and tries to thrust back anyway), he drives into him over and over, head spinning with lust and sensation.

The line of Alex's back, spread across the bed, arching and flexing as he takes him, draws his eye, and he spares a hand to follow that shifting curve. Alex twists under the touch and the ripple of muscles under satiny skin entices. He digs his fingers into the firm flesh and Alex bucks under him, his chest lifting off the bed, and Yassen grabs at his shoulders, pulling him up to hold him flush against his own body. A hand on his hip and another under his arm, spread across his chest, hold him in place as Yassen continues to thrust.

When Alex tilts his head backwards to rest on his shoulder with a moan, Yassen laughs - surprising himself - and nips at his ear, his newly exposed throat. He slides his hand down over Alex's chest, pinches a nipple and groans as that makes Alex tense up and squeeze him tight. Drifting lower, he lets his hand rest on Alex's stomach, almost idly stroking at the trail of coarse curls from his belly button down.

"Fuck, Yassen, please!"

"Hmm?" he smiles at Alex's begging, stroking just a little lower, but not as low as he clearly wants him to. He can see why Alex is begging - his cock is flushed and hard and damp, and mostly untouched so far.

"Please - fuck - touch me?"

"You could touch yourself," Yassen whispers, torn between wanting to touch, and wanting to see. But Alex reaches behind him to pull Yassen's head forward, twisting his own to the side to claim an awkward, messy, desperate kiss.

"I want _you_ to touch me," Alex begs, panting, when they have to pause for air.

Yassen bites down on Alex's shoulder, and as he yelps, slides his hand down to grip his cock. The yelp becomes a high-pitched moan and Alex shudders in his arms.

It only takes a few strokes before Alex cries out, stiffening and coming in stripes of white across the bed. A few more shallow thrusts and Yassen follows suit, biting down on his shoulder again to muffle his moans.

They can't stay this way for long, but Yassen is strangely loath to move at first. When he does, he goes to the bathroom to fetch a cloth, returning to find Alex standing to stretch and yawn, the movement exposing his body to Yassen's interested gaze.

Wiping Alex down, Yassen considers his options. Returning to his employer has somehow ceased to appeal.

And no one will find them here.

He strips back the bedspread and slips between the sheets behind Alex - there's scarcely enough room for them even when they're pressed close, but somehow, he can't find it in himself to care. He suspects Alex is indifferent to this problem as well, considering just how close he gets.

Tomorrow he'll deal with the rest of the world. For now, he has Alex.

They sleep.


End file.
